


A Roof Above and Good Walls All Around

by gardnerhill



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Current Events, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:13:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9973406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: That cozy dwelling provides refuge for more than its two regular inhabitants.





	

“Mr. Holmes, I am the unfortunate Hector MacFarlane!”

 

As we two heard a panicked young man’s rapid narration of the events that had led to him being wanted by the law, we heard the heavy footfalls of Scotland Yard coming up our stairs. Without exchanging a single word Holmes and I stood shoulder to shoulder facing Lestrade and his constables, a barrier between the benighted law and our young client.

 

The look of relief and confidence never left MacFarlane’s face even as he was handcuffed and led away from us; I knew Holmes felt as I did that we had a responsibility to live up to that trust.

 

***

 

A squeal of terror from the inner door galvanized both Basil and myself out of our mid-afternoon torpor. Basil sprang out of his chair, his newspaper flying, even as I seized my Army revolver from its place over the mantel. We both recognised that sound.

 

Basil flung open the door that led to the inner part of 221b Baker Street and a rat pup dashed into our parlour, a mountain of grey-tabby fur and vicious green eyes right behind. I snapped off one shot at the approaching paw and did not wait for the cat’s squall of pain before slamming the door shut.

 

Basil was no longer at the door, for he berated the shaking child (almost as big as he was, even though it was a mere few weeks old) in the centre of the room. “Mrs. Hudson’s cat is a highly-trained rodent assassin, miss. You are lucky that you’ve learned a lesson that did not prove fatal.”

 

“Was hungry wan’t I?” the girl snapped. We believed her, for we saw how thin she was. “Mam and Da can’t feed us all by ‘emselves, nor the ovvers. I ain’t a idiot – I saw the cat. And I saw your door. Knew where to go dinn’ I?”

 

Basil smiled, as did I; that youngster’s defiant courage was heartwarming.

 

“You did indeed know where to go, youngster.” Basil reached into his trousers pocket. “If your eyes and your speed are that impressive when you’re famished, you should be exemplary when you are well-fed. I could use those eyes to keep me appraised of what occurs on Baker Street.” He poured a mound of silver and copper coins into the pop-eyed ratling’s paws. “Let me know if you have any other littermates or friends who wish to earn a few coins in this way. I am Basil of Baker Street. Might I know your name?”

 

And that was how we met Jennie Tilson, who wound up leading the squad of street-rats that made up the Baker Street Whiskers.

 

***

 

“There are no ‘illegals’ in this house, officer,” Sherlock Holmes said flatly.

 

“We’d like to come in and verify that.” The buzz-cut white man wearing an armoured uniform, garish armband in place, stared at Sherlock. Three other similiarly-built men in similar military uniforms stood behind him, in front of an enormous armoured vehicle.

 

“When you can produce a valid search warrant for these premises you may do so.” The detective’s voice was glacial. “In the blatant absence of same, I’m sorry to inform you that the state of New York is still an adherent of the United States Constitution and not whatever version of _Mein Kampf_ serves as the training manual for your fledgling organization.”

 

“Sir, you will respect my authority.” The trooper’s tone was the flat tone of a brute looking for an excuse to administer a beating.

 

“And _you_ will show respect for my father’s _influence_ , since you have none for my rights as a legal resident alien in this country.” Fire flickering under that ice. “I strongly suggest you look up the name Morland Holmes immediately, and decide whether or not you truly wish to make blatantly illegal trouble here.”

 

Sherlock folded his arms and waited in the doorway while one of the background men looked up something on his phone, and visibly wilted. The four huddled, touching headpieces and muttering. They did not so much leave as fade into the background, the tank seemingly rumbling off on its own.

 

“Fascists,” Sherlock snarled, striding into the kitchen. “Using my privilege as a wealthy white male for good is one thing, but forcing me to use my father as a shield is unforgiveable.”

 

Four people sat with Joan Watson at the kitchen table – a man and woman in their 30s, a boy of about 10, and a 3-year-old girl. “ _Estan seguro ahora,_ _Señor_ ,” Joan said to the man. (You’re safe now, sir.)

 

“ _Dios bendice, Señora_ ,” the woman cried, hugging her daughter. (God bless you, ma’am)

 

“ _Es sus derechos. Ellos son equivocado_!” (It’s your right. They are wrong!) Joan gestured in the general direction of the vanished squad, her own frustration and anger finally surfacing. Her other hand was splayed over a folder full of their legal documents – none of which apparently meant a thing these days if your skin was brown and you spoke another language.

 

Sherlock busied himself at the kettle and cups. “We’ll make sure a lawyer shows up tomorrow to discuss the Riveras’ situation. In the meantime, there’s enough room for everyone here tonight.”

 

Joan shook her head. For a moment she looked very tired. “This could mean jail for both of us, Sherlock.”

 

“Amazing how many people on the right side of history spent time behind bars.”

 

“Just a reminder.” Joan poured milk for the kids while Sherlock made tea, and smiled a little at him. “I appreciate your efforts at the door. If nothing else you bought us time.”

 

“I didn’t even lie to that contemptible myrmidon.” Sherlock brought the tea tray over to the table for their unscheduled guests.  “No human being is illegal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Created for the February 2017 Watson's Woes Monthly Prompt, “refuge.”


End file.
